


Drunk, Old, Dead, In That Order.

by God1643



Series: Micro-Stories [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Old Man Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 08:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18139814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God1643/pseuds/God1643
Summary: Harry's tired.His granddaughter... less so.





	Drunk, Old, Dead, In That Order.

The door swung open hard following the three gentle knocks, revealing the inhabitant. He was old, bent at the back and a face set deep in a scowl. His long beard drooped, bushy, with his downturned mouth, white and flecked with grey and filled with twigs and burdocks.

His hair was close cropped to his head on the sides, up in a high silver pony tail bound with a black ribbon. His gnarled hand clutched the door tightly, his acrid jade eyes aglow with anger.

“What?” He snapped, his off hand clutched around a brown bottle, unlabeled.

“Morning, Grandfather.” The visitor began, uncaring of the brusque manner of the old man. Jade eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly, clearing from his drunkenness, and he silently swung the door wider and stepped aside.

The visitor kicked off her shoes and strode inside, a wave of her hand and a pulse of her magic hemming up her long skirts to not drag on the floor.

“What do you want, Eleanor?” He asked waspishly, brushing past her muscled shoulders to his immaculate, tiny kitchen. His favoured chicken, Darling The Sixteenth, sat contentedly on a windowsill, crunching away at some seeds, and he brushed her head with his gnarled hand as he moved.

She clucked happily and bobbed a little jig.

“Charming and polite as ever, Grandfather.” Eleanor returned smoothly, her eyes, so like his wife’s, piercing his through their cocoa shade.

“I’m no one’s grandfather. I have no family.” He snarled in return, even as his voice remained so quiet she could barely hear it.

“Hermione said otherwise.” Eleanor returned.

“Don’t you say her name!” He exploded, static lightning crackling the air about his shoulders and sending his beard straight out.

“You have no right to claim it as your property, and, as such, you can not stop me from calling my Grandmother by name.” Rebutted Eleanor, unfazed by his display.

“Out! Out! Out of my home!” He bellowed, shooing her away like one would a pesky seagull. Eleanor merely raised an eyebrow. She bit back a snapping response, swallowing her frustration at the crotchety old bastard.

“I require your help.” She admitted instead.

“Oh, that’s rich.” He snapped, teeth bared in anger. “Everybody’s always needin’ my fuckin’ help. You can just fuck right off. Let an old widower die in peace.”

A silence stretched, until, at last, she spoke.

“This is not peace.”

The silence was longer this time, and then his bearded mouth opened, mustache twitching as he fought his upper lip’s desire to sneer.

“No. But it will be.”

“Soon?” She queried, sad.

“Soon.” He confirmed.

She turned, dragging on her shoes with her toes. She returned to face the old man, cocoa brown eyes filled with pained tears. Her arms were bulging in her black sleeves, muscles tensed with clenched anger.

“Do you have any regrets?”

“I hurt your father when I pushed him away. I’m proud of him, and you. I’m a right cunt, but you sure as shit ain’t. Your brother needs help, not rejection. If not for me, for Hermione’s memory, and for her peace. Don’t make my mistakes.” He said.

“How long?”

“Until Darling passes.”

“I hate what you did… but…” She trailed off, uncertain.

“I love you, Eleanor.” He said, a soft smile under his beard.

“I love you, Gramps.” She replied.

 

Three weeks later, when Darling slipped into death in her sleep, Harry buried her beside her mother and father in the cairn plot atop the hill behind his cottage.

He put out the lamp for the final time, locked the door, wandered to the end of the Isle and stared out at the curling, breaking waves.

He sat down, crossed his legs and crossed his fists over his chest, uncurling his hands to wrap about his own shoulders. As he focused his magic down his arms and back into himself, he spoke.

“ _ Avada Kedavra _ .”

He slumped slightly, locked in meditative position for eternity.

And so ended Harold James Potter.

 

He blinked awake in the train station, awoken by a whispered greeting.

“Hello, Harry Potter.”

Luna Lovegood stood, ethereal, in a pure white gown, smiling.

“I’m back here?”

“Oh, yes, Harry.” Luna replied with a smirk.

“Son of a bitch!” Harry roared to the whiteness.

Hermione’s laughter tinkled from ahead of him, in the fog.


End file.
